Where my Demons Hide
by I.Dream.Of.Hardyz
Summary: 'Your eyes they shine so bright, I want to save that light. I can't escape this now, unless you show me how'. When Hannah joins the team a second time for a mission in Afghanistan, she and McG get separated from the team and both are injured. Recovering in the hospital, he sees her scars. The mission brought back McG's own demons... can two broken heal together?McG/Hannah Few-Shot.
1. Chapter 1

**I told myself I wouldn't write a chaptered story in this section—I don't have much time on my hands right now, but I reasoned with myself and decided that a few-shot would be a good compromise. So… hi! To those who I don't know on this section yet, I'm publishing this story, my second, after getting some good comments on my McG one shot last week. I've really come to enjoy his character, and I think being the medic of the team, he's probably got some really great whump-y takes to tell. Since we probably won't get many of them before season one ends, I've taken upon myself to write some of them.**

 ** ** **That said, I'm really not that great at mission-speak. I am learning, slowly, but I'm trying to shy away from it in this story. Watching the show helps, and I know it's not the best compared to others in this section. I make no promises to being completely accurate. So please don't attack me. :)******

 ********So, I already said I'm into McG!Whump but after seeing the preview for next week's episode) AND HOW GOOD WAS DESPERATE MEASURES, MY GOD) with Hannah and our lovely team together, I had an idea. We all know that he likes his women, and I can see a Hannah/McG pairing being fun. That's all I'll say. ;)********

 ** ** ** ** ** ** **FINALLY, for all intents and purposes. I OWN NOTHING. This show belongs to NBC and Dean (who is freakin' awesome and deserves all the praise in the world), and I'm just playing with his characters and I might enjoy putting them through some terrible situations. Don't sue me.**************

 **A final note … shout out to one of my good friends Isa, who might read this, might not, for putting me in the mood last night to poke at McG some more. You, girl, are my favorite.**

 **PLEASE, let me know what you think. I like to chat. Enjoy!**

 ***PeaceLoveJaz***

* * *

McG eyed his Commanding Officer from the workout bench that he was using, knowing eavesdropping on his boss's private conversation with Patricia Campbell was not only rude but wrong, but he couldn't help but pick up on the apprehensiveness in Top's tone, how he was pacing and asking more questions than usual for a mission call. He had walked in a few minutes previously, having taken the dog for a run with him, and patched in seconds after that. Near him, he could tell Jaz also was curious to the nature of the conversation, but was being less stealthy at showing her nosiness.

"What's going on?" she asked, nudging McGuire's sweaty shoulder. She grimaced at the cool touch and then folded her arms, hair falling over her shoulders in the wild mane it was when not out in the field. "Top looks annoyed."

He glanced up at the young woman. They'd gotten her back a few months back, and she seemed to be handling the kidnapping well, or at least was hiding it enough that the others couldn't tell. He knew that Top and Jaz disappeared sometimes, and he assumed it had something to do with working through her struggles. Still, she was stone cold on every mission they'd been on since, having been cleared a month later to return to the team. He admired her for that.

Jaz was like the little sister he never had. She was tough and her tongue was sharp, always able to stand her ground in a team of all men. He knew, like Top often said, that her arrival on this team probably took more work than any of the others there, and her spot was solidified each time she took someone out by sniper shot.

"Earth to McG, do you got any brain in that head, or is it all air?"

He rolled his eyes, standing up. The towel to his left looked dirty, but he grabbed it anyway and wiped off his face and arms, tossing it directly into her face after. She growled and for a second, he regretted the decision, but instead she just shoved him, eyes narrowing playfully. "I don't know. He's been on the call a while. Seems to be arguing with Director Campbell."

"About what?" 

This time, he shot her the look. "If I knew, obviously we wouldn't both be standing here."

"As you two shouldn't be," Preach shot out, walking past them eating an apple. "By the way, McG, do you ever clean up after yourself? Those dishes have been in the sink for weeks. They've brought _friends_."

He smirked at the elder man, but ignored the comment. At that moment, Top ended his call with the Director, and came over to the group, Amir showing up just in time. "Get ready. We're going to Afghanistan. Hannah will meet us there."

"Hannah?"

Jaz spoke up before anyone else could add in, "Again? Why do they keep putting her into the field?"

He shrugged, clearly not giving his full opinion, "Director Campbell was happy with how last time went and requested she follow us again because of her contact. I want to be out of here within the hour."

He flashed them a winning smile, earning an eye roll from everyone else, and walked out of view. McG wondered the same thing—Hannah being in the field with them twice in a few month's time was uncommon—he knew she used to be a full operative before a mission went south, but the extent of the details had always been hazy. Director Campbell shared most of the vital information with Dalton, and he was fair about passing on details when needed, but he had always been careful about Hannah. He never understood why.

The team arrived in Afghanistan sometime later that day, McG surprised to find Hannah waiting for them when they got there. Impressive, he thought, Director Campbell must've sent her out before telling Dalton of her involvement. The team was to work with Hannah on a contact she had prior to her time with the cartel. According to Dalton her contact knew of an upcoming terrorist attack on Kandahar Airfield, talks of it happening when a US Senator visited with troops deployed there in three days time. Her contact was deeply embedded into the Taliban's web and knew crucial information that would protect the base and the US Government official.

At least that was the hope.

He hated Afghanistan. He stood outside the main FOB, looking out at desert knowing how much time he spent outside the wire in the mountainous area, for weeks on end during his first two deployments, way back when he had only recently joined the military. While Afghanistan was hardly a picnic these days, back then Kandahar was live with many roadside bombs and riddled with insurgents waiting to take as many lives as they could.

He watched too many good men, _young_ men die in that sand.

He wished he could say he escaped unharmed himself, but most of those injuries healed over time, just the mental baggage left behind.

"At least we are here now, and now in three months," Dalton stated, coming up beside him.

He understood what Top meant. It was early February and the temps were fair—in the seventies. Give it two month's time and it would be well into summer heat waves.

Hannah just briefed his CO and was checking in with Director Campbell and Noah, leaving the team to wait for instructions on how they were to proceed. It was nearly nightfall, and they would probably wait until morning unless immediate threat came about. The general plan was to meet with Hannah's contact, Ameliah, married to a high regarded insurgent and who Hannah had flipped about eight years previous. Ameliah's husband was one of the men behind a recent string of American deaths, but this threat on the Senator's life would result in more if they were not to stop it.

"This place sucks all year round," McG mumbled.

"Fair point. You were deployed here twice, correct?"

"2007-2008 was the last time, yeah."

"How many men did you lose?"

"Nine."

Dalton cringed. "I imagine you got plenty more home."

He sighed deeply, looking at his commanding officer with heavy eyes. "Yes, but is it ever enough?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I am so pumped that people are liking this, thank you, thank you, thank you! :D I truly have been intrigued by both McG and Hannah in the past few weeks, and I thought it would be a fun concept to try especially since they're not technically on the same team, so there's not as much stigma that would be attached to them dating like there might be between Dalton and Jaz. That said, like a certain man named Preach said, you can't deny a connection. ;)**

 **Okay, so a quick thank you to the two guests who reviewed since I can't reply to you privately. :) I appreciate you reading and leaving your comments.**

 **Onto the next chapter, I have to say I put in the research here. I'm still not sure if I'm completely accurate, but when you're googling Delta Force and trying to figure out how long each thing would take... it can get hard. I also spent about an hour last night scrolling through Dean's twitter replies trying to find any information that would help me write this as well. He did reply to someone a few weeks back saying that people like Dalton's team would not show emotions like others do, but seeing that we saw crack's in Dalton during Monday's episode, and going off the notion that despite being highly trained and skilled men and women, they are human, I'm going to take a little creative freedom here. He also said, which I'm sure many of us know that Dalton and Preach were together first, then McG, with Jaz being added about 3 years before. So it makes my initial timeline a little rough for his first deployments pre Special Forces, but alas, that is partly when Afghanistan was particularly bad and I'm keeping it.**

 **Again, so I tried to make it so it was all accurate, but I'm merely a fanfiction writer with access to google. I try. Don't attack me if I'm a bit wrong. ;) That said, during the So Many Shows podcast after Monday's episode, I think it was Dean who said that writers can be sadists who enjoy putting readers/viewers through pain... I definitely agree with that statement. I've been known to make people wanna kill me for my writing. But! Like he also said in an interview a while back... human resiliency is underrated.**

 **Finally, again, I own absolutely nothing. That's all NBC and our evil genius show creator Dean. I'm merely a fan of whump. ;)**

 **PLEASE, let me know what you think. I like to chat. Enjoy!**

 ***Peace, love, and Jaz***

* * *

Joseph McGuire didn't let his own mind get to him. Honestly, he never really had the time. With his team, they were always on the next mission, traveling halfway around the world and back in the amount of time most civilians would find insane. It left little time to think about the past, something he was usually glad for, but also made him question his own humanity. He reasoned early on it was better to stay busy. Before he was part of this Omega team, before he was in Delta Force, back when he was just a Specialist in the United States Army, on his first deployment he could think about things. He never realized just how much down time he had.

Catapulted into small arms fire and blown up Humvees, he used to treasure going back to his FOB and taking the crappy MP3 player out of his hiding spot and brooding. It made him feel better, it also gave him the ability to compartmentalize what he saw out there. Mangled bodies and hollowed eyes, broken soldiers and burning flesh. There were smells he'd never get completely out of his head. He reasoned most nights that he signed up for this and if he let the worst of it get the best of him, he was on the losing end of a battle he could probably win.

When he garnered the attention of his superior officers early on for his quick thinking, he assumed he must be doing something right. He was quick to be praised by career military men, told he had saved men from deaths that most others could not have. It should've given him an ego, but it only gave him further purpose. He deployed one more time, as he told Dalton, with the platoon he originally was placed in after signing up for the Army. That was the bloodiest year for him personally. He lost nine men, five in one go.

Compartmentalize. He went with that more and more as he survived deployment. He began to hate down time. He wanted to go. He wanted to be out there, working on saving others. He wanted the purpose.

When he returned from deployment, his CO at the time suggested (and later referred) him to look into the Delta Force. The thought was tempting but also terrifying to a 23 year old kid, who despite having survived two deployments to Afghanistan, thought perhaps he wasn't meant to be there. His CO thought otherwise. Again and again, he was told he was different. He was one of the few. Instead of just purpose now, it gave him a mission.

So, he did as he was told. He never realized what it took to get to Special Forces. It took heart, obviously. A sound mind with the ability to overcome great challenge. All the other crap they told him when he passed the Special Forces Assessment and Selection portion of what was known as the 'Q Course'. Then began the hardest year of his life training wise. He got to Fort Bragg early on in 2009, starting his training with small unit tactics and learning survival skills. All the things he thought he knew so well were thrown in front of him, but with more detail. He learned a language. He got his ass handed to him, grilled, and sautéed on several occasions, but when it came down to it, he succeeded.

In his last four weeks of training, he completed the collective training exercise and got his Special Forces unit. He worked under it for several years before crossing paths with Dalton. Dalton was also in Delta Force but another unit. He admired him, but at the time he never knew what it would mean for his future. When the position to be part of Dalton's team came to him a few months after that, he took it and never looked back. He was a part of the team (later adding Jaz, then Eli, and finally Amir coming in after Eli died) for several years and he'd never stopped.

He hadn't been to his hometown in almost two years. His mother had many questions about what he did, and it was hard to keep the secret. His mother was a nurse after all, and last she knew, her son was just a medic. Well, he was a medic. That wasn't a lie. It was just everything else she didn't know about that would probably kill him before any enemy ever would. If she ever knew what he did… he'd be a dead man.

All of it became a thing of compartmentalization. Tuck it away for another time. He knew enough even with this training that one day, all of it would come flooding back—all the death, all the loss and anger would hit him, probably when he was no longer a part of it and was retired somewhere doing God knows what. Even now, he had a moment or two when it would trickle through. Losing Eli was rough. The military sent them all for therapy, mandated of course, but it wasn't like he really felt able to talk to the guy. He didn't understand. He knew what he needed to say to get back to the team. He felt more at home with his team. With Dalton's leadership, Preach's never-ending positivity, and Jaz's … well, Jaz-ness. He knew that Jaz's own struggles with Eli's death hit closer than he could ever imagine. To lose your best friend. Regardless, when Amir joined the team there was a return to the wholeness he felt. It was a wonderful thing to have people beside you who you knew would be there—not like people say in civilian life—no matter what. Jaz's kidnapping rocked that again, watching Dalton falter—for God's sake Dalton never fucking faltered—sent a chilling reminder to him that they were not untouchable and this could call shatter before them at any given moment.

He knew Jaz had to sit through more therapy following her ordeal. He knew she hated it. He wondered what he would do if the tables were turned and he was the one in her shoes. He knew being in Afghanistan turned the faucet on, the trickle was constantly poking for attention, the _drip, drip, drip_ , on his mind. _Remember when that happened. Oh, forget THAT moment, remember that? Remember SPC Andrews begging you to tell his wife … all of it. Remember when Dalton took a hit about two years ago that nicked his femoral artery and Noah couldn't get you the medical evacuation you needed soon enough—and he'd almost bled out before you?_ McG startled himself out of the memory, only stopping when he remembered placing his knee on Dalton's thigh, no way to cauterize the wound at the time, so his last hope was to staunch the bleeding by his body weight. He'd never seen Top so pale, so out of it before.

He knew going down that rabbit hole was particularly dangerous because once you were in, the drip, drip, drip quickly became a steady flow, which then turned into a burst pipe, which then flooded the entire damn place.

"McG?"

His vision swam at the sound of his name. Amir stood before him, eyebrows furrowed at the taller man before him. "You good?"

"Of course," he said gruffly, swallowing the last few minutes from his memory, giving the CIA operative turned Omega member a brief nod. "What's up?"

"Dalton just got word. We're about to be briefed."

"Be right there," he said, and the man nodded, leaving him alone for the time being. Being in a FOB, especially one the size of Kandahar Airfield felt like a second home. He knew the ins and outs of FOB Sharana, having spent a year there, as well as Bagram. Kandahar he'd only been in with Delta and with Dalton, but he recognized it enough to know it was one of the better places to be if you were to be in a place like Afghanistan. Soon, they would be leaving the base and going into the sandy mess that was the desert.

Dalton's plan meant splitting up. He wanted Amir with him and Jaz (he kept Jaz closer these days, whether he would admit that or not), and Preach would take Hannah and he to Hannah's contact. Dalton would be gathering information from another source that Noah had uncovered back at the DIA. They would be leaving in a few minutes.

He'd lost track of almost two hours. Drip, drip, drip…

 _Where My Demons Hide_

Hannah missed the field at times. Being with Dalton's team a few weeks back sent an adrenaline rush into her body, the addicting feeling of trying to save the world. Of course, she was undercover on her own in a cartel last time she was an operative, not with an Omega team as Dalton's, but the rush was there regardless.

Sitting in a Humvee with Preach and McGuire, she couldn't help but wonder if giving up the operative life was a mistake. She knew she made a difference from her desk at the DIA, but there was something about the field that resonated with her. But, the cartel had almost wrecked her, and she knew for her own mental health that down the line, long-term field time would do the opposite of what she needed. Besides, Noah had sort of grown on her.

"You're quiet back there," Preach said from the front, next to their driver who had also not said a word.

She wasn't sure who he was speaking to—McG had been weird since she saw him earlier, almost as if he was in a funk. Did she say something to offend him? She doubted that, guys like him did not really take hits easily. Besides, she caught him checking her ass out when they first arrived, earning an eye roll from Jaz, who pulled her aside a minute later stating, "I received one once over when I first joined the team." She gave her a slightly terrifying grin. "He hasn't since. I suggest you act early."

At the time, she had laughed, but glancing to the right of her now, she wondered what it was like to date while in a group such as theirs. Preach was married, of course, but the others were all single. Noah had mentioned that there were rumors of Jaz and Dalton having feelings for each other, but she suspected Dalton would never act on them for the sake of his job. Regardless, the last time that the man next to her acted on emotion, he'd landed them into a spiral of Russian spies and a near disaster.

Realizing they must've been speaking to her, as all eyes were on her, she smiled slightly, "What? I can't think?"

"Touché," McG said, giving her a toothy smile. He was a handsome man, if she were honest. Outside of her job, he would probably be her type. There was something about the tall, dark, and handsome stereotype you read about in so many novels. But to act on something like that, especially in their line of work, could get messy.

"We're almost there. About five more minutes," the driver said, and Hannah stiffened. She last saw Ameliah so long ago, so when her name came up the day's previous she was almost sure it had to be because she was dead. The woman was married to a top man in the Taliban, someone who called the shots on many successful attacks on American soldiers in this desert. He wanted to graduate to the American government now, apparently. She knew if Ameliah were to leave she'd be a dead woman, so she stayed with the man and fed information as she could to the American government instead. A dangerous job, regardless, and one she suspected would one day get her killed.

There was a pause in the Humvee, one just long enough to become uncomfortable when a flash of light blinded her and then, at least for a temporary while, nothing.

Hannah woke up to a sharp pain coming from her abdomen. She gasped awake, her mind consciously telling her that something was wrong. Obviously, she reasoned with herself at the absolute agony she felt they had been ambushed, or hit an IED… something. The last thing she remembered was McG and Preach yelling, before the silence. Now, she could smell a fire and she grimaced, trying to gain her bearings.

She was no longer in the Humvee which came as an act of mercy perhaps with it on fire a few feet to her right. Alarm quickly replaced that thought as the realization she wasn't alone slammed her. The pain stopped her from moving, and she looked down to see a round, thin piece of metal sticking out from her right side, just below her ribs. Great. It went all through, where the last piece of it protruded from the small of her back, a clean through and through had it not been, well, you know inside of her.

"Fuck," she mumbled, knowing if she stayed still it would probably hurt less, but she did not see her team anywhere around, though she knew that could possibly be a worse sign. She needed to move. She needed to find Preach, McG, the others… where was her earpiece? It wasn't in her ear anymore; she couldn't get in touch with Noah… she couldn't get help.

Then, Hannah saw a large body collapsed away from her, burrowed in a small ditch, closed in on himself.

"McG," came a hollow voice, one barely above a whisper and unable to be heard against a roaring fire. Angry, she tried again. "McG…"

Hannah hated being weak. She hated knowing that the piece of metal in her abdomen was probably more serious than it looked from the outside (which it looked bad enough already), but the damn medic of the team was down. And she would surely bleed out, or internally, if he was not able to help her. So, she decided in those moments she would crawl her way to him and pray that what she found once she got there was not a fallen hero.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm dying after tonight's episode. In case you're all wondering. The ship of Hannah and McG has sailed, and it is wonderful! ... but seriously, how good was that episode? Hannah in the field was just so damn badass and her lines were so perfect. AND MCG. You hound, you! I tried to play some tribute to the scene in which they met in this chapter (after some quick editing), but the story might stray a tiny bit from what you see on the show.**

 **That said, it's been a great day, and I love this show so much. So I'm going to let this pretty long chapter speak for itself!**

 ***Peace, love, and Jaz***

* * *

Hannah would be lying if she said this was the first time she ever crawled in agony on her hands and knees to save herself. Hell, she tried each day to keep memories like this out of her mind, to focus on her job and remain present despite textbook post traumatic stress poking at her like the monster it could be. But, this time she was not alone, and with McGuire not moving and Preach nowhere in eyesight, she knew time was of the essence. It was dark, there were mountains only a couple miles ahead, easy to hide a sniper and take them out. They were not safe. Hopefully Joe's earpiece was still in tact and she could radio for help, or at least get Dalton out here.

"McGuire," she growled, only a couple feet away now, her side aching unimaginably each time she moved in the grit and sand, pieces of metal embedded into the dusty surface. "Damn it, Joe wake up!" She was angry with the situation, angry at herself, and angry that this operation already went so south. She could only hope that the other half of the team was safe. Jaz didn't need this kind of danger or hurt yet. She only returned to the team a couple weeks back.

They'd been emailing back and forth, video chatting when she could escape the men around her. It was her boss's idea, knowing that Hannah had went through hell after her last operation as an operative, and understood the panic, fear, and anguish that the other woman might be feeling. Patricia Campbell also knew that people like Dalton's team did not take well to Army doctors poking and asking questions. There was a reason they were the elite of the elite—they had the ability to compartmentalize and pack things away in a way that not many others could. They didn't show fear, they didn't show their emotions. At least, not the way normal people did.

But, much like her boss thought, Hannah would be different. They had the same security clearance, the same understanding of what it meant to keep your cover no matter what. Regardless, Jaz didn't open immediately. She insisted she was fine, but Hannah knew otherwise. Because she had said the same thing. She struggled for months to emerge from the hell she was inflicted, and it didn't happen overnight. Jaz said her worst fear was that her capture wouldn't be the last terrible thing to happen to the team. The thought made her realize while they might all be their own person, they were a group of five interdependent souls. When her captor brought the pictures of her dead team in that room to her face, she knew it couldn't be true, but it still haunted her. The worst thing that could happen was that someone else got hurt or died trying to save her. She was terrified when she first saw her CO that he would say that.

Then there was the white torture. Hannah couldn't emphasize with that sort of pain, but she could listen. Regardless, too, she was still a woman and the men of her group would never have that in common. Jaz was equal opportunity in a lot of ways, but as Dalton had once said, according to Jaz, he never forgot who she was or how hard she worked to get there.

She realized seconds later the thoughts of Jaz overtook the pain for a moment and she forced herself back to reality. "McG!" she yelled, finally close enough to reach out and grab his shoulder. Much to her relief, he groaned at her touch and shrunk his eyes closed further if that were possible. In the dim light of the fire, she could not see any physical injuries, but that didn't mean they weren't there. "You with me?"

He groaned a second time, but this time his eyes opened and much like herself, it all came flooding back to him. She was impressed how fast the fog cleared from his eyes and how easily he was able to focus on his surroundings. "Fuck, fuck! Where is Preach? What happened?"

"I haven't gotten that far," she admitted, the energy it took to get to the tall medic effectively draining her of the majority of the fight she had left. "I've got a bit of an, uh, issue here."

Preach scrambled to a sitting position, wincing as he did so, only to curse at the sight of Hannah's abdomen. "Shit, Hannah. Don't move." He glanced around him for his medical supplies, always near when they were out. But it was so hard to see, she knew and if it did survive the bombing, it was going to be rough to find. "Can you sit still for a minute? I'm going to look for my pack. Don't move. Don't agitate it anymore."

 _Where My Demons Hide_

He thought after the whole Iran situation the universe would maybe let them rest a bit. Get in and out of their ops and sort of… well, survive. The universe was not kind, and his thought was incredibly naïve and ridiculous if he were honest. After the bombing on the beach, after Elijah's death, after Jaz… they deserved a damn break. The punches kept rolling though, and in the pitch black shitland that this desert was, the universe laughed once more. His medical pack was on fire in the Humvee… well, what was left of it, at least. And Hannah was already ashen and shivering. How the woman managed to get to him despite this was nothing short of a miracle.

He didn't have any supplies. He literally could not pack her wound, couldn't give her any pain medication… hell, his earpiece was even gone, which really solidified how fucked they were. A few feet away, he saw the body of their driver unmoving, and limped his way to the man, closing his eyes as his fingers confirmed the man was dead.

Fuck.

Where was Preach?

He knew better than to call out in the dark, aware that the mountains were great hiding places for insurgents to keep tabs on the American soldiers. They didn't know this was a Special Forces group; they simply saw the uniform and took aim.

"Anything?" Hannah asked, as he came back over to her. He helped her lie down on her better side, trying to inspect her wound in the minimal light.

"Driver's dead. I don't see Preach. It's possible he got thrown. I don't have anything to help you." He was honest, at least. Following many unusual medical supplies in the past, he could use just about anything in times of distress. Except, the only thing he had now was the clothes on his back, and a watch on his wrist. Fantastic, he could count down the minutes until Hannah bled out in front of him. Which, he reasoned was happening internally, considering the low amount of blood dripping from the wound. Her pulse was thready, and her skin clammy, all bad signs for her condition. It would only deteriorate in the cooler temperatures. The question at this point was how fast.

"It still hurts like a bitch, which I guess is a good sign," she said, the humor not going far enough.

She was right, that said. If she was still in agony that meant her body hadn't gone into shock yet, or was trying to save the energy she had left. Agony unfortunately was a good thing.

"I'm going to take another look around. Go a bit further." He got up from the crouched position, his back screaming in protest (and his head swimming, which made him think he probably had a concussion—but when the driver over there was missing a few body parts and pulse less, he supposed he could take that), wondering just how far he could go without endangering them both. Thankfully, the two of them still had their weapons. He motioned to hers. "Fire that if anyone comes at you."

She gave him a careful smile, "It isn't my first rodeo, Joe. Go. Look for Preach."

"The team will be looking for us," he told her, as if she didn't know that. Usually it would be her doing so, which seemed ironic. "So I hear Noah likes you a lot, so he probably won't leave you out here too long."

Hannah gave him another smile, this one a little less guarded. "He's not my type."

"Noted," he smirked, and he took off, keeping focused as best he could. He would be lying if the smells weren't starting to get to him, the general environment casting shadow-like memories around his peripheral vision. It was a night like this when he lost one of his first soldiers years back, when he'd only been deployed for a couple months and he was as green as the grass back home. There'd been no saving him. It was an IED blast, and the damage to the 18 year old soldier's body had been severe. He stayed with them to the very end, though, talking as McG shot the strongest of pain medication into his veins, and attempted to get him into the MEDEVAC. They were hoping for a miracle, but in the air, he went down and never came back up.

Around him now, he tried to find anything that would tell him where his fellow serviceman had gone. The flames were dying out in the Humvee now, thankfully, as it was a huge target for their already compromised safety. The temporary feeling of relief flooded him when he was able to confirm there was not remains of a body inside. Preach was out there, but the question was to where. Could the team have another one of them captured? Jaz nearly gutted him; he couldn't take the man who was like a father figure to him, too.

He got closer to the Humvee, knowing that his medical pack was somewhat flame retardant, trying to find a way to see if anything was salvageable inside. If he could at least get an IV into the woman hurting a few feet away, maybe grab some morphine, this could be a bit better. There was so much he wanted to do and needed to do, but he felt helpless against it all. He hated that feeling.

"McG!" Hannah's weak call sent him jogging back over, seeing her panicked eyes staring at him.

"What's u—?"

She was holding her hand to her side, where a deep purple bruise had formed. She knew it was a bad sign. He knew it meant they only had a couple hours before it was too late to do anything. McG growled, kicking a piece of metal as far as he could. With renewed passion, he stalked over to the Humvee, mainly just sparking embers at that point and picked up a longer piece of broken metal, figuring he could use it to get the charred pack his way. Angling it inside the mangled vehicle, he poked the sturdy medpack, getting it as far as the door nearest him before a spark made him back up. It sent what looked like firecrackers into the sky, then neon sparklers that looked like fireflies as they blinked in and out.

He wasn't stupid. He knew the Humvee wouldn't stay out like this. The vehicles held more gas than a normal car, and the back of the truck was still mainly intact. Probably why he and Hannah weren't dead. His heart plummeted at the thought of Preach in the front, the passenger door where he would've (hopefully) escaped suffering great damage as well.

Focus, he reminded himself. He couldn't get lost in his thoughts right now. Time was running out and he needed the medical pack if Hannah was going to survive much longer without a hospital's medical attention. He gripped the piece of metal and poked it in a second time, the Humvee making a lurching noise that made his ears ring. More sparks lit the dark area.

"Come on, just a bit…" Hallelujah, he thought as he was able to get the bag out. It was pretty damaged on the surface, but there was great relief in his chest when he got it open and most of the things inside were still usable. He looked up at the sky, not usually one for religion or praying, but figured someone was looking out for them that day. "Eli, if it's you… thank you." Elijah had been gone almost a year, but no one forgot about the man who died in Jaz's arms. If there was something beyond this life, he knew the man hadn't stopped watching them.

He raced back over to Hannah, tearing an IV bag with his teeth to get it set up, while rummaging through the kit to find the morphine. She watched him with weary eyes, not sure if this silence was normal for the woman, or if it was a sign that she was fading. McG didn't know too much about her, like he thought earlier that day. She'd only joined the team shortly after Amir joined theirs and her history was nothing but gray to him.

"You with me still?"

"Yeah," she said softly.

"The pain will be better in a second," he assured her, putting on gloves and working the attachments into the large bag. A bag of fluids was one of those things that shouldn't do much, but always did.

"I'm no stranger to pain, it's alright." She didn't elude further than the comment, and he didn't want to ask.

"Can you give me your right arm?" he asked, the one further from the embedded piece of metal, and the one that he could reach without having to aggravate her side any more than it already was. Judging by where the thin piece was located, it looked as if it could've nicked some of her intestines, perhaps her appendix, but it was thankfully low enough that it wasn't going to get to her more major organs. His thought was that it would at least be repairable, as long as he got her there in time.

Hannah gave him the arm and he set up the IV, first putting the pain meds in. Within minutes, the woman had visibly relaxed, the medication doing its job as he stood above her, holding the bag of saline so that it would enter her body in the correct manner.

"Once this goes in, we're gonna move." He knew it would hurt like hell regardless, even with the meds, but they were sitting ducks in the open like this. He saw a small area of rocks and brush a few feet away; it would at least give them some cover if insurgents came to inspect the burning car. And enough time for him to fire off a couple of shots with an advantage. Worst case scenarios, of course, but at least he would be prepared. And they were three for three with worst case these days, anyway.

"Are you hurt?" she whispered.

He knew there was adrenaline pumping through his body, but other than what he thought as some serious bruising and maybe a mild concussion, he didn't believe so. He had minor lacerations and shrapnel wounds, nothing that would require immediate attention, especially not when she was in such dire needs.

"I'm alright," he said honestly. "Just banged up. You're my main concern."

"Ah, so you can be chivalrous," she teased.

He smirked, knowing it was the pain medication talking, as Hannah had not ever been this flirtatious previously and laughed. He normally would've quipped a reply in seconds, loving that sort of attention, but it was not the time. "You are taking well to that morphine."

"When I got back home after the cartel, they gave me it in the hospital. Was one of the best highs I ever felt."

He blinked at the words, repeating them in his head over and over. _After the cartel_ , she said. He knew vague details about her time before, having mentioned on the line during their last trip to Mexico she was familiar with the cartel, but not enough; not what they did to hurt her, seemingly. That said, he knew how ruthless and brutal they were. He was unsure of how to answer. Hannah's reaction to the meds seemed to make her forthcoming and casual about her past, and he didn't want to accidentally talk her into revealing things that she wasn't ready for.

"Well," he said after a moment, "Morphine is great."

"Spoken like a drug addict," she giggled, cringing when the metal shifted in her.

He took the bag from one hand to the other, trying to see if she irritated it further. It just looked red and swollen at the site. "Almost done. Stay still." She obliged and he carefully slid the medical equipment out of the way, glancing around him to double check they were still alone. "Alright, we're going to do this slowly and carefully. If there is anything, and I mean anything that hurts, you tell me. We'll figure it out."

"My knight in shining… camo?" another giggle erupted from her lips.

McGuire smiled, "I'm hardly a knight."

"Mm," she purred, as he arched his back so that he could lift her without disturbing the area. "What do they say about military men? Heroes wear dog tags, not capes." The woman paused, frowning at the words. He scolded himself for thinking about how cute she looked with furrowed brows. Not the time, you Neanderthal. "Wait, that doesn't sound right. It's _something_ like that."

He chuckled, knowing she would not be focused on what he was about to do. "Keep talking, Han, we'll be done in a minute." All the drugs in the world could not hide the pain of being dragged across rough terrain and Hannah bit down on her lip when he began to drag her until they were safe. She never cried out, tough as nails obviously. He didn't expect less. His superior, Deputy Director Campbell was much like his CO. She knew exactly how to pick them. If Hannah Rivera was working for her, she was the best. He set her down behind a particularly large boulder, double checking the area a final time before deeming it as safe as they would get. Hannah's breathing came in short, sporadic breaths for nearly a minute, sending his gut into overdrive. Only when he was about to ask her if she was alright, did it calm. She glanced up at him. "Are you okay?"

"I mean, I'm in the middle of a desert with a piece of metal sticking out of my side, with a whole bunch of angry extremists who wouldn't mind me dead. I'm great, how are you?"

He laughed again, "That is something I would say if the tables were turned."

He sat beside her and she gave him a soft, but pained smile. "So I hear, we might have a lot in common."

"How so?" he asked curiously.

Hannah gave a shy giggle and shrugged. "A little birdie might've said so."

"A birdie, huh?"

Hannah shook her head. "Nah. She's not a birdie. Maybe a … hmm? What animal would you call Jaz. I'm thinking some sort of panther."

"I'm not sure. Jaz said we have a lot in common?" He rolled his eyes. "What would Jazzy know."

"Jazzy?" she questioned.

He nodded, "She's the little sister I never had."

"She's a badass."

"She is," he agreed. "I was nervous that after Iran we might not get her back. I mean, I know we got her back, but I mean back, like _back_. I'm not so elegantly worded. You get the idea."

"She's a tough kid," Hannah murmured, looking up at the sky. "She respects you."

"Is that what she said?" he snorted. "Remind me to get that in writing."

"She does," she deadpanned. "She says you're a pain in the ass and headstrong, but when it comes down to it, you're loyal and you've got a heart that would do anything for those around you." He couldn't help the smile that spread, knowing for Jaz to say it she must've been really vulnerable. "You know, you don't have to be the player all the time, Joe. You've got a lot of great things to show the world. Anyone who only sees the brooding and handsome medic needs to look deeper."

He was surprised by the comments, and his expression evidently gave it away.

"I know that sounds odd, but I'm on the other end of that phone, in case you forgot. I hear just about everything that goes on. I can also see when someone is using bravado to hide what they truly feel." She shifted, cringing a second time in the last few minutes. "I know, because I've done it. It's easier to put up a wall."

"I don't put up any walls."

Hannah closed her eyes, shaking her head. "It's just you and me here. You don't have to lie. There's no team going to tease you. Joe, I've read your file. I know what you've been through."

He was annoyed by that comment, "No one told you to look through my file."

She held up her hands. "It wasn't right, I know that. But I was curious."

Curious about _what_ exactly?

There was something about someone other than his team knowing what he's been through that bothered him deeply, but he didn't have the heart to argue with her when he knew it would only add adrenaline into the equation.

So he didn't answer.

Hannah smiled, "Remember when we met for the first time in person?"

Where was she going with this?

He arched a brow, "Yes. It was like a month ago."

She chuckled, "And you came up to me like you were ready to take on a challenge. Put your hand out, said your first name, and the team all rolled their eyes." He smirked at the memory, knowing when he first saw her that he was interested. She was polite, but didn't take the bait. Hannah was a smart woman after all, an operative herself, so she knew how to handle things. He was, to her, probably just a pigheaded man. Which, in her defense, he could be. There wasn't much to look forward to when not on mission, so forgive him if he enjoyed his time by well, enjoying women. There wasn't a law against it, and as long as they were able and consenting, he was all over that. Mama McGuire didn't raise a fool.

"What?"

He said it out loud. Oh, for fuck's sake, he just said that last thought out loud.

"Your mom is your only family in your profile."

Back to the profile. Great. "Single mom. Raised me. Don't know how she survived that."

"How did she take to you getting into the Army?"

He sighed, remembering that fight. There'd been a lot of tears, a lot of anger in that conversation. He was supposed to be a nurse like her. It seemed too boring, too routine. Why not throw in some bombs, angry people with guns, and an unknown terrain to make things interesting? Younger McGuire craved that rush. This McGuire wouldn't lie; he was growing tired of it. He loved his team; he loved being a more realistic version of Captain America. But the heroics were far and in between all the hell.

He once heard one of the Army shrinks say that even the toughest eggs could crack. At the time, he thought the analogy was stupid. Eggs were in a soft shell; of course they would crack. The human brain on the other hand was a complex, diverse piece of his entire being. But as they got slammed over and over again by hard operations, he wondered what would happen next time something like this went down.

How long did duct tape fix a leaky faucet?

"Not well," Hannah realized, bringing him back into the present. He had to stop bringing in his thoughts; zoning out in a war zone was more than dangerous.

He nodded, "She wanted me safe. You can't blame her for that."

Hannah was quiet for a moment, "My parents almost got one of _those_ letters when the DIA found me nearly dead. I can't imagine what would've went through their heads. They didn't know what I did for a living, at least not in reality. They knew I work for the government, but in their minds, I've been an analyst all this time."

"My mom just thinks I'm stationed in Turkey for a few years. She doesn't know anything other than that." He thought about his mom getting that sort of letter. She only had him and he was so fucking far. He had one of them, and it said everything he could never say, but he wished that it never got delivered. This desert waiting game was making him question otherwise. He was hoping that if they laid low long enough, that someone would come looking—the good guys, obviously. But it'd been nearly a half hour since he dragged Hannah behind that rock and no one was coming. It came to fruition that this wasn't working. The deep bruise on Hannah's side was getting darker, and he could see her hiding the wince again. The meds were already wearing off—a seriously bad sign.

But what could he do? If someone came after them and he was looking for his team, she would never be able to defend herself. If he stayed there much longer, he wouldn't have to worry about that anyway. She'd be dead.

Weighing his options, Hannah made the decision for him, as if she read his mind. "You need to go looking for Preach at the very least. If the team is out there, they're looking. They'll see the heat signatures. Our mics have to be somewhere in this damn desert."

He closed his eyes. "You okay?"

Hannah gave him a weak smile, "You and I both know whatever answer I give you what the truth is." She took a shaky deep breath. "But, I want to live. And the only way that is happening is if we do something."

"I don't want to leave you a sitting duck."

"Go," she said, nodding. "Go."

So, he got up. The fire was looming near the Humvee again, threatening a secondary explosion. The flickering embers sent him back… drip, drip, drip…

Faces slammed his memory. People he couldn't save.

Not.

 _Now_.

For fuck's sake, he needed to focus on the mission. Dalton would say so.

He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, seeing Hannah's concern from below him. He nodded once, then took off with his gun raised toward the direction in which they were originally headed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for a bit of a delay in this chapter. College makes it so my writing cannot come first (as I suppose it should), but I wanted to get this up! GAH, before I continue, HOW GOOD WAS THAT FINALE? I literally was so tense and scared the entire time! I won't spoil it for anyone who may not be caught up yet, but it was SO GOOD. I need season two, as I'm sure everyone else feels, too!**

 **Anyway, this is a shorter chapter, one that leaves off with a Dean Georgaris-like cliffhanger (ahem, good sir), and then we'll switch gears a bit. I make no promises for anyone's safety. Hehe.**

 ***Peace, love, and Jaz***

* * *

He didn't get very far without seeing a blood trail—probably about a half a mile away. McGuire's senses went into overdrive and his guilt started to set in—was this Preach's blood? Should he have went looking for him immediately after finding Hannah? What if he was too late? He pushed the thoughts away, knowing at this point the what ifs would kill him before any guilt could, and followed the trail to a secluded rocky area, much better hidden than where he and Hannah were holed up.

"Took you long enough," came the deep voice that sent relief flooding his body.

"Preach." He immediately grabbed the pack that was slung over his back, running the short distance to where the eldest man on the team had taken cover. He had a nasty laceration on his forehead, and was littered with various sized shrapnel wounds that looked equally painful.

He then noticed a body not too far away from them.

Preach's tired eyes lulled that way. "Tried to sneak up on me. He's the only one I've seen so far. There may be a sniper. I've heard gunfire but could only work the direction to the mountains. It's since been nothing but radio silence. It's too quiet."

"Hiding out until it was safe or the team found us?"

"I was about to come looking for you and Ms. Rivera."

"Let me check out your injuries, man. Let's not make this any worse for us."

"Nothing seems too serious," Preach said calmly. McG stopped, studying him. He was acting a bit strangely, as if he had a concussion. It would make sense, the Humvee blew up—from the way the lacerations and shrapnel were scattered on him, he was probably thrown. "You're studying me."

"I think you've got a concussion, brother."

Preach shrugged. "Probably."

He inspected rest of the wounds, none of them too deep, but all probably littered with infection. He didn't have any antibiotics in his pack, at least not enough to really start treatment. So he handed Preach a couple pain medications, which he brushed off, and offered his hand. The two got up, and McG didn't miss the large man waver. They needed to get out of this shithole, and soon. They all needed a medical treatment facility.

"You have your mic?"

"No. I think it was taken."

"Taken?"

He hadn't considered that. They all were unconscious at one point or another, and it would make sense if the insurgents took them—but why leave them alive? Why not just finish them off then and there? A terrifying thought overcame him—Preach was right; it was too quiet. They had their mics. Whoever ambushed them had the ability to hear their team coming. He could only hope the team would realize they were compromised and was finding another way. If not, they were being led into what he thought Preach already realized was a timed ambush.

"We need to get back to Hannah," McG said, helping Preach walk. The elder man was not too proud to admit that one of the shrapnel wounds in his leg was particularly aggravating, so they took it slow. It left McG with his thoughts again, and the fear that as soon as they were all together, all hell was going to break loose.

The silence followed.

He tried to understand what they were walking into. Would they attack as soon as they were out in the open? Why did they leave the weapons with them? Then again, if they had a sniper, they could be taken out before any of them got their weapons raised. He didn't have a family other than his mother. Preach had three kids, a wife to get home to. He didn't know what Hannah's family life was like—but he imagined better than his. His mother would never understand when she got that message.

He knew it would destroy her—last she knew he was Delta. Somehow though, she still believed he was merely a medic, never as in danger as his fellow soldiers. This in part was her own ignorance. The medic goes into the field with everyone else. The other part was his fault—he shouldn't have kept her as in the dark as he did. He couldn't admit to her what they were doing now, but he should've talked to his mother about his early deployments, and the struggles he had with them. Maybe the baggage would be a little lighter.

"You're quiet."

"Just trying to not get us killed."

Preach rolled his eyes in the dim light. "Talk to me, McGuire. I'm not some civilian who doesn't understand."

He stole a glance at the man's face. He had that all-knowing look on, the one he often had when he knew he was right. It usually drove him nuts, but now he just marveled in it. How the hell was that man so intuitive? He tried to play it off, scoffing, but the former SEAL just held his gaze. "I'm fine. It's a lot to process. You got any words of wisdom for that?"

"I am not a walking quote machine."

"Could've fooled all of us," he joked.

Preach smirked, "We are in a very hard profession, McG. There are not many who understand what we go through. You can't bottle it up. Eventually each time you do, something shakes that bottle. And one day, the pressure inside will force it to explode."

There was Preach. He sighed, "Another time, Preach. Hannah's in bad shape."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man made a face his direction, but thankfully he didn't press the issue further. Somehow, the walk back to where he left the DIA analyst seemed longer and harder, but that could be credited to he was supporting half the weight of a larger man. By the time they made it back, Hannah somehow seemed paler and her eyes glassy.

"Hey," he whispered, and he didn't miss the concern on Preach's face. He took watch for them as McG looked at her injuries over again, knowing without an operating room and the proper tools they really couldn't do much else. Time was running out and they had no idea if help was coming for them any time soon—if they were compromised or if the others were too.

As if fate knew it was needed, Jaz's voice came from the darkness. Quiet but clear, she stated, "Top, Amir over here. Multiple injuries. We need an EVAC and we need it now."

She came over, gun raised and McG never was more relieved to see the sniper before him. She nodded his direction, glancing down at Hannah with sharp eyes. Jaz was careful not to show emotion, especially not when there were others around them. He knew this. After her capture, all he had seen was anger and determination, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but there had to be other emotions underneath. Realistically, he knew from his own head that trauma was different for each person, and probably more difficult for a woman whose spot on the team could be more easily compromised because of her gender. Still, having known Jaz long enough, he could see the concern there, and she knelt down next to Hannah, who greeted her with a shaky smile.

Amir and Top came running from the darkness, Top immediately coming to Jaz's side with Jaz. It left McG, Preach, and Amir standing guard, Amir's expression the most open, which did not surprise him either. He was always less hardened then the rest of them, more open with his entire personality. He used to think it would get all of them killed, especially when he first joined the team and replaced Elijah, but he'd come to see it as an asset.

"What happened? You guys went dark."

"Good question," he murmured, feeling haziness start to slip back into his head. He forgot he was probably concussed, too. With the adrenaline pumping before, it helped him focus. His team meant he was no longer alone, which eased his nerves.

"MEDEVAC 10 minutes out," Jaz stated, interrupting his reply.

Then, he added, "We were ambushed. Preach thinks they stripped us."

Amir was on the oddity of it immediately. "And left your guns?"

McG stepped forward, to get a better look at Hannah. "That's the weird—" As he said this, he heard something familiar and then there was immense pain and finally total darkness.


End file.
